


Getaway Girls

by placentalmammal



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bank Robbery, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 17:52:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3177934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/placentalmammal/pseuds/placentalmammal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Known criminals Porrim Maryam and Latula Pyrope rob a bank with the aid of their mutual girlfriend, Roxy LaLonde.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getaway Girls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scrunch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrunch/gifts).



> _"Oh there’s skeletons of cigarettes and empty cans and bottles_  
>  _And we tear out of the parking lot, the engine at full throttle_  
>  _You mapped a route with all right turns so the lights don’t get us caught,_  
>  _We’ve got a mess of cash in duffel bags and every penny’s hot."_

“Are you ready?”

Roxy’s voice was light, even cheerful, and Latula’s response was an immediate “I was _hatched_ ready,” but Porrim, sitting shotgun, didn’t respond immediately. She was examining her reflection in the rearview and making minute adjustments to her appearance, quietly readying herself. Latula watched as she smoothed her short blonde wig and tugged on the collar of her turtleneck, pausing to admire the effect.

In the driver’s seat, Roxy drummed her fingers against the steering wheel, tapping out the beat of the song playing on the radio. She bobbed her head in time with the music and mouthed the words, staring fixedly at the stoplight on the corner. Porrim reached across the center console and put a hand on Roxy’s elbow, stilling her.

“Re _lax_ ,” she said. Roxy nodded, taking a deep breath, in through the nose and out through the mouth while Porrim returned her attention to the mirror, wiping away a stray smudge of lipstick. She’d removed her piercings and chosen an outfit that covered her tattoos, rendering herself unremarkable. Her makeup was sedate, tired colors carefully chosen to wash her out and mask the distinctive jade tint of her grey skin.

Latula was in the backseat, wearing a curly red wig that only sort-of concealed her sharp horns, gym shorts, and knee socks. Her outfit was absurd, attention-grabbing. The idea was to distract witnesses, make sure they remembered the costume and not the face. It had worked so far; the evening news described her as “female, likely troll, between 5’5’’ and 6’2,’’ with an athletic build.” Porrim was “a midblooded troll woman, twenty-five to forty years old, between 5’6 and 6’0.’’” Roxy didn’t make the news at all, and the trolls had worked hard to keep it that way. She was their getaway girl, and the police didn’t need to know that there were three of them.

Porrim nodded in satisfaction and slipped on a pair of oversized sunglasses. “Let’s go, ladies.”

Roxy responded automatically, removing the parking break and shifting into first. Still nodding her head to the radio, she blew through the red light, blaring the horn at a startled pedestrian. She sped down the street, and mounted the curb, coming to a messy halt on the sidewalk in front of their target, a mid-sized bank in a mid-sized city in the upper Midwest.

“Good luck,” she whispered, and Porrim leaned across the center console for a kiss before she threw the passenger side door open and slid out of the car, hefting an unloaded shotgun. Latula followed suit, favoring Roxy with a wink and a smile before she followed Porrim into the bank.

They had this down to an art. Latula’s sidearm was loaded with one bullet, which she fired into the ceiling. The patrons and tellers turned around, screaming and diving for the floor while Porrim stormed towards the tellers. “Get on the floor,” Latula screamed. “Everybody, get on the fucking floor and no one gets hurt.”

She tossed two empty duffel bags to Porrim, who handed them to the tellers. They scraped armloads of bills into the bags, flinching whenever Porrim or Latula’s eyes landed on them. One of the patrons, a balding, middle-aged man looked up as Latula stalked past him, brandishing her gun. “We don’t want any trouble,” he said weakly.

“Damn straight,” Latula growled. “Let’s keep it that way.”

He whimpered. “Yes ma’am,” and Latula had to force herself not to break character and laugh. _Chill dude!_ she wanted to say. _It’s unloaded and the bank’s insured for like, a million dollars._ Instead, she scowled at the man cowering on the floor and moved on, throwing glares at the rest of the patrons.

Porrim grabbed the loaded duffel bags from the tellers and turned around. “Let’s _go_ ” she snapped, reaching for Latula’s hand. They sprinted towards the front doors, bursting out into the chilly winter day and threw themselves into the idling car.

“Buckle up!” Roxy shouted as Porrim and Latula scrambled for their seatbelts, slamming the car’s doors. Satisfied that they were securely within the car, Roxy jammed the accelerator. The car lurched forward, thumping over the curb and shooting through the intersection. She tore down the street, laughing as she darted through traffic and made a tricky right turn onto an on-ramp. She merged onto the Interstate, and the others picked up on her laughter, cackling madly as they left the city behind them.

“Did we make it?” Latula shouted, exhilarated, tugging her wig off and throwing it out the window.

“Not ‘til we’ve crossed the state line,” Roxy called back.

“And then we’re home free,” Latula chirped.

Porrim twisted around in the passenger’s seat as she scrubbed the makeup from her face. With each pass, she looked more like herself. “What was our take?” she demanded breathlessly.

“Hold your damn musclebeasts, let me catch my breath,” said Latula, hauling the bags into her lap and tugging the zipper, revealing stacks of neatly rubber-banded bills.

Roxy pumped them for details as she sped down the interstate, one rapid-fire question after another. _What was security? How many witnesses? Did anyone_ see _your faces, really see them?_ , and Porrim did her best to keep pace with the questions. _Pretty light, three tellers, maybe five customers, I don’t think so_. She expertly shifted up, depressing the clutch as she changed lanes, eyes darting from the mirrors to the speedometer to the road.

They lapsed into silence as they passed through downtown. Before long, they were free of the city entirely, hurtling past car dealerships and suburban exits. The adrenaline had mostly subsided, replaced by a quiet bliss, like afterglow. In the back seat, Latula lit a cigarette and passed it up to Porrim. “No ashes on the upholstery,” Roxy bossed, her eyes flicking between their faces in the rearview mirror.

“Re _lax_ ,” Porrim said, kicking off her sensible shoes and putting her bare feet up on the dashboard. “I’ll be careful.” She peeled off her beige turtleneck, revealing toned shoulders decorated with swirls of black ink. She wadded it up and tossed it into the backseat

Latula caught it one-handed and dropped it on the floor. “Our take,” she said dramatically, “drumroll please, is $7,643 in cold, hard cash.”

“Not bad,” Porrim said.

“Not bad at all,” Roxy agreed.

“What do you say, ladies?” Latula asked. “Enough for a weekend in New York and a trip to Tiffany’s?”

“Tell you what,” said Roxy. “I’m using my share to buy the three of us matching ‘BFF’ necklaces. With diamonds.”

Porrim groaned. “Please don’t.”

“A hundred muthafuckers can’t tell me nothing,” Roxy sing-songed, and her laughter carried them down the road and over the state line, into a new day.

**Author's Note:**

> _"And we’re laughing through the fear that we’ll never make the clear,  
>  Oh, you’ve never looked so dear, it’s the end of our career."_
> 
> \--[Optimist vs. the Silent Alarm](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yoY2_mQYGSE)


End file.
